


Silent Witness

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-24
Updated: 2000-03-24
Packaged: 2018-11-11 03:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Someone watches our two boys and sees more than he wants to.





	Silent Witness

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

This is just a minor snippet thing I wrote for the hell of it. I'm getting  
into Turnbull lately, and I'm trying him out with all the characters  
I can think of to see who clicks the bet. Course, he doesn't get the  
guy in this one, and all my fics seem to feature a different version  
of Turnbull. But you'll just have to figure that shit out for yourself.

And hey, maybe you could tell me which one ya like. If any. Or tell me  
they all suck. Free country. 

Enjoy. It's just a little rated PG POV thing. :-)

Lucy

They think no one sees them.

I don't know how Fraser can be so incredibly blind to think the closet  
door is still closed. The heated looks that pass between them, the innuendo  
they think I miss because I am simply too clueless to get it, it's unmistakable.  
Even to poor, simple me. 

No, the closet door is wide open, and they're standing in the doorway  
for all the world to see. You know, I used to not understand that phrase.  
Naif that I am, when someone first told me of a friend being 'in the  
closet', I took them literally. Of course I was laughed and, and the  
meaning explained to me in much simpler terms than were necessary. 

But now I see the simplicity and truth to the phrase. Constable Fraser  
and Ray Kowalski are in a closet. Metaphorically speaking, of course.  
They shut themselves and their relationship up with the other skeletons.  
And they seem to almost expect any day now for someone to come barging  
in, to catch them in the act, as it were. They flash those looks and  
use suggestive phrases as though they HOPE for someone to find them out.

That's why I would say they were in a closet. Not a room that could be  
safely locked from others. A closet. The image would almost make me laugh  
\-- Constable Fraser's neatly hung up serge jackets, pressed and flawless.  
His carefully polished boots, lined in a neat row. And Ray Kowalski,  
set somewhere in a corner so as to not ruin the order of everything else.

It would make me laugh if it weren't so painful. 

I am truly as stupid as they say. I am a silly, brainless, hopeless dolt.  
And not because I trip over my words, or the rugs. Not because I lose  
files and spill vases of flowers. But because the one thing I aspire  
to more than anything in the world is to be the one standing in that  
immaculate closet. 

Yes, I've made the ultimate mistake. I've fallen in love with a fellow  
officer. A man. A perfect, beautiful, devoted man. Oh, could I make him  
happy? I would give everything I have. I can understand him better than  
these flighty Americans. I wouldn't laugh at him, or call him a freak.  
I would talk to him about everything we have in common. 

And he would talk to me.

Not laugh at me, or look at me with thinly veiled disgust. Not in my  
fantasies. We would talk. I would be able to open my mouth and speak,  
not stammer or play dumb. He would listen. That's all I ask. 

So you see, I am stupid. 

But I'm not blind.

Constable Fraser comes in from his office in the mornings, bright and  
cheerful. He says hello to me and tries very hard to pretend that he  
spent the night in that office of his. Which is silly, because Ray Kowalski  
is no longer late for work in the mornings. 

Oh, I used to hear about terminal tardiness, whether it was Fraser complaining,  
or Ray complaining about his Lieutenant complaining. But no longer. Ray  
is now on time every day. Because he gets up so early, to make sure Fraser  
is back here at the Consulate before I arrive. 

But still Fraser pretends. And when I ask him in my bland way if he had  
an enjoyable night, he gives me a smile and says it was nothing very  
special. He follows those answers with a wider, Ray-would-kill-me-if-he-knew-I-said-that  
grin, which I am not supposed to notice, and then goes on his merry way.

Ray arrives, if it is the typical day, and comes to me asking if Fraser  
is in. As though Fraser is ever out when he isn't with Ray. I, half-wit  
that I am, make conversation with him. It usually follows a pattern:

Me (blank yet always polite smile in place): "I'm sure the Constable  
will be out shortly. He is usually so happy to leave with you." 

Ray (trying to look innocent and always failing miserably): "Yeah, well.  
Guess it must be this Canadian air. It's kinda oppressive." 

Me (of course looking affronted): "There is nothing wrong with Canadian  
air, Detective." 

Ray: "Nothin stepping out in some good old American sunshine won't fix."

Me: "I don't imagine you're using very logical thinking, Detective."

Ray (of course getting highly upset for no reason): "What the heck is  
wrong with my thinking?" 

Me (wanting to say, 'nothing a good head transplant won't fix'): "Oh,  
nothing, Detective! I'm sure it works for you just fine!" 

Ray: "All right then. You know, some of you Mounties actually appreciate  
my thought processes." 

Me (knowing where this is going and dreading it): "Is that so?"

Ray: "Yep. In fact, some of ya really get off on it, ya know? Seein'  
things in a whole new way. Broadening yer horizons and stuff. You should  
try it sometime." 

Me: "Oh, I'm quite content with my horizons as they are now, detective."

Ray: "Yeah, I guess you would be."

Me (of course pretending the man didn't just insult me): "I certainly  
would." (setting myself up for more misery) "I believe Constable Fraser  
is happy as he is as well." 

Ray: "You don't know Frase." (getting a lascivious gleam in his eye)  
"Trust me when I say he gets off on what I do for him." 

And on it goes. I set myself up, and both men continually knock me down.

They're happy together, I know that. I know Fraser now smiles more than  
he ever did before. I can see the effect Ray has on him. It's awful of  
me to resent it. But I do. I resent every smile Fraser sends my way,  
because I know it's not for me. 

And I have started to slowly hate Ray Kowalski. He has everything I don't  
\-- he can move with grace where I stumble. He is golden and slender and  
handsome where I am square, grey, and plain. He has Fraser's love, I  
have Fraser's contempt. I have everyone's contempt. Even my own. 

But I sit here at my desk and paste smiles on my face. I stumble, and  
stammer, and watch them grin at each other, and ask leading questions.  
I pray for the day when Fraser greets me without a smile, when Ray no  
longer appears here every day. Even though Fraser will never look at  
me with love, I wish for the day when I don't have to see that look given  
to someone else. 

They think no one sees them. But I see. I sit at my desk and smile and  
see.


End file.
